


not enough

by kiyala



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Butt Plugs, M/M, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q should know better than to sleep with professors. Especially when it's Professor Bond. He really should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not enough

**Author's Note:**

> pie drew [this lovely piece](http://piecrmbs.tumblr.com/post/36509608179/) which inspired me to write even more smut.

The first time Q meets the professor of his _Management and Ethics_ course, Professor Bond is hung over, unshaven, and leaning against the wall like he doesn’t trust his own legs to keep him standing.

Q opens his binder, pulls out his course information sheet, and sighs. _Management and Ethics_ continues to be compulsory for his degree, despite his most sincere wishes. Damn.

This is going to be a terrible course. Q can _feel_ it.

 

Four weeks later, Q is bent over Bond’s desk, the office door locked behind them, biting his lip as two fingers stretch him open. Professor Bond’s fingers are slick, his breath warm against Q’s ear as he murmurs encouragement, _yes, that’s right, relax_ and, _such a good boy_.

“Ready?” Bond asks quietly, and Q can only nod. He balls his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms as he feels the small plug being pushed into him. He exhales slowly, feeling full, and yet not quite full enough.

“There you are.” Bond pats his arse lightly. Then he picks something up from the desk—a remote, Q’s muddled mind supplies—and presses a button.

Q doesn’t yelp when the plug begins to vibrate, but he just barely manages to remain silent. The buzz of the vibrator is near-silent but Q can most definitely _feel_ it. The plug doesn’t sit deep enough to press against Q’s prostate and he's thankful for that because he knows that if it did, he’d be coming immediately. He knows Bond well enough to know that this is no accident.

Bond presses the button again and the vibrator turns off. Q slumps against the desk, panting softly, and Bond slips the small remote into his trouser pocket with a satisfied smile.

“Up you get. Class begins in ten minutes.”

Q looks over his shoulder at Bond with wide eyes. “You don’t mean…”

“It’s only an hour,” Bond murmurs, tapping his finger against the flared base of the plug. Q bites down on his fist to keep himself from crying out. “You can do it, can’t you? I know you can.”

Cursing himself for being so damn eager to please, Q nods silently and stands up. He pulls his pants back on and does his belt up. He can feel the plug sitting in him, its weight impossible to ignore. It shifts with every little move he makes and Q wants to groan when he realises that he has to walk across to the other side of the building for his class.

“Don’t be late,” Bond murmurs, running an affectionate hand over the nape of Q’s neck before walking out of his office.

 

There are already a few people in the lecture theatre when Q shuffles through the door, but no sign of Bond. Taking a seat towards the back, Q sits down gingerly, his eyes darting around the room. Nobody seems to notice the odd way he’s carrying himself—nobody’s even looking in his direction—and he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. He lets himself relax a little, for now.

It doesn’t last for long. The moment the door opens and Bond walks through, Q can feel himself going tense again, his skin prickling with anticipation. The worst part is that he isn’t even sure if he’s looking forward to this or if he’s dreading it.

“Right, settle down,” Bond tells them, placing his bag down on the desk at the front of the room. “I’m sure you’ll all be thrilled to hear that I’ve got a lovely surprise planned for the first half of class.”

There are collective groans as Bond pulls out a stack of quiz papers. He _smiles_ , the bloody bastard, and begins placing them face down on students’ tables. Q doesn’t look up at him when a paper is placed in front of him, but cannot help the feeling that Bond lingers in front of him just a second longer than he really needs to.

“You have half an hour,” Bond tells them, returning to the desk at the front of the room and sitting down. Kicking his feet up on the table, he smiles at his class. “I hope you’ve been studying.”

Q turns his paper over and gets to work immediately. The questions are simple enough; Q’s been studying regularly and even if this course feels like a waste of time in his computer science degree, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t ace it anyway.

The quiz is a six-paged booklet that Q breezes through, faster than those around him if his frequent page-turning is any indication. About fifteen minutes into the quiz, when Q only has the long-answer question left to do, Bond gets to his feet. The movement catches his attention; it would no matter what, but it’s different when Q is all too aware of the plug inside him, and equally aware of the fact that the remote to control it is in Bond’s pocket.

Bond paces the length of the room, his arms folded across his chest. He walks back to his desk, leaning his hips against it, and looks directly at Q. With the hint of a smile, Bond slips a hand into his pocket.

It’s so quiet in the room that Q’s first concern is that somebody will hear it. The vibrator is equally as quiet and Q’s grip on his pen tightens. He looks down at the sentence he’d been halfway through writing, his thoughts too jumbled to remember what he was trying to say. He glances up at Bond, who is still leaning against his desk, wearing an expression that could be mistaken for apathy if Q didn’t know better. Bond is watching him, and Q is glad that he’s sitting at the back of the room because this way, he doesn’t need to be paranoid about anyone behind him noticing the way he keeps looking up. Nobody notices the way he shifts in his chair, trying and failing to find a comfortable position to sit in, doing his best to focus his attention on the question he’s trying to answer.

Bond smirks, his lips just barely moving, but Q can read them anyway: _good boy_.

Q bites on the end of his pen, trying his very best to ignore the vibrations, telling himself that he is _not_ hard, that he _isn’t_ going to come like this. Not here. Not now.

When the vibrator stops all of a sudden, Q nearly moans out loud. He isn’t sure if it’s relief he feels or disappointment, but he can’t help the way he looks up, his fringe falling into his face. Bond is not looking in his direction and Q doesn’t know how long this is going to last for, so he decides to take advantage of the time and get back to writing his answer. He’s finished with a good ten minutes left and just as he places his pen back down on his desk, the vibrator begins all over again.

This time, there’s nothing to distract him. There’s nothing that he can turn his attention to instead and he balls his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms so deep that he knows they’ll leave marks behind. Biting his lip, he hunches over his desk and desperately casts his mind out for something else to focus on. He’s got work that needs to be done for his other courses, readings to do, and he tries to think of that instead.

It doesn’t work. His thoughts keep returning to here and now, to Professor James fucking Bond. Q has more information about Bond than has ever been volunteered; he’d done his research at the beginning of the semester, when he was still refusing to believe that Bond actually _was_ a professor. He still finds it difficult to believe that Bond _could_ take anything seriously for long enough to be considered an academic, but perhaps Bond had been different before. Q knows that the Chancellor has a soft spot for Bond, for whatever reason. When the previous professor of this course had left, the Chancellor had brought Bond in. Perhaps she’d hoped it would make him stay in one place for more than a few months at a time. Q hadn’t thought it would work, but nor did he think he would ever _like_ the professor, let alone whatever it was they were doing now.

He wants to _come_. Q just wants the class to be over so he can go to Bond’s office and do whatever he’s told until he finally gets what he needs. He’s shaking now—he isn’t sure when it had started, but he’s barely holding on, his thoughts getting progressively less coherent.

He looks up, his brow damp with sweat, and Bond is looking right at him. His eyes are wide and bright and he looks utterly _wrecked_. That makes two of them. Bond slides a hand into his pocket, his eyes still on Q, and the vibrator turns off.

Then Bond looks away, to the clock on the wall, and clears his throat.

“Right.” Bond’s voice is low and rough, and Q likes the thought of being the only one who knows exactly _why_. “Time up. Pens down. Bring your papers to the front.”

Q stays put, waiting until most of the other students have gotten up before he walks to the desk at the front of the room. He’s thankful for the fact that his coat is long enough to hide his erection, but every single step he takes jostles the plug. He has no idea how he even manages to get all the way to the front of the room to Bond’s desk without making a sound, but it’s worth it for the way Bond looks at him, those bright blue eyes filled with pride, filled with the promise of what is to come.

Bond’s hands stay out of his pockets for the remaining half hour of the class, which Q is thankful for. He doesn’t think that he can stand the vibrator again, not this soon. Bond barely looks in his direction, but Q doesn’t mind that. It gives him time to breathe, to relax so he’s not so tense. Even so, he can’t help the way he keeps glancing over at the clock and at a quarter to, Bond catches him doing it. He turns away with his lips curling into a small smile and Q does his best not to grin himself.

It’s five minutes to the hour when Bond dismisses them and nobody bothers to hang around for long enough to catch the way that Q doesn’t leave with the rest of them. Bond is leaning against his desk with a small, satisfied smile.

“I hate you so much,” Q mutters as he walks up to Bond. It would have more of an effect if it wasn’t the exact same thing he’d said right before the first time they’d ever kissed. Adjusting the strap of his bag, Q keeps walking. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Q lets himself into Bond’s office, shutting the door behind him but leaving it unlocked. Taking his coat off, he hangs it up on the coat rack and stands by the window. Now that he doesn’t need to worry about keeping his expression blank and pretending that nothing is happening, Q shuts his eyes and lets himself focus on the feel of the plug inside him. He likes the weight of it, the way he just _can’t_ ignore the fact that it’s there. He likes knowing that it’s keeping him stretched open, knowing that Bond is going to slide the plug out and replace it with his cock.

With a quiet sigh, Q slides a hand down to the front of his pants. He’s so desperately hard, and surely Bond wouldn’t mind—

A hand wraps around Q’s wrist, holding it still. He gasps sharply, going stock still.

Bond clicks his tongue reproachfully, stepping closer so that his chest is pressed against Q’s back. “Impatient, are we? And you were being so good before…”

“There’s only so much you can expect from me,” Q replies, as evenly as he can manage, “when you put this thing in me and then make me sit through a _quiz_.”

“But you did so well,” Bond tells him approvingly, and Q wishes it wouldn’t make him feel so _proud_.

“Some warning would have been nice,” he mutters.

“Now,” Bond chides, turning Q around and giving him a lazy grin, “that would be favouritism.”

“And you don’t _do_ favourites,” Q intones, repeating what Bond has said to him so many times earlier in the semester, back when they were both trying to convince themselves that this wasn’t something that they wanted.

“I knew you’d be fine,” Bond says, his voice suddenly soft and fond, and Q doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to when Bond kisses him. Q wraps his arms around Bond’s shoulders, kissing back. Bond lifts him, placing him down on the edge of the desk. Q gasps loudly against Bond’s lips.

Bond pulls the remote out of his pocket and holds it up, his thumb poised over the button.

“Oh god, please,” Q breathes, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking for.

Bond simply smiles at him and presses the button. The plug begins to vibrate and just like that, Q is a trembling mess all over again. Bond pulls up his chair, sitting down on the very edge of it, leaning forward and placing a hand on Q’s thigh.

“Just look at you,” Bond whispers, and Q cannot hold back any longer. He reaches out to Bond, fingers curling in his hair.

“Please.” His voice is so quiet that he can barely hear it himself. “I can’t…”

“Shh.” Bond kisses his lips, his cheek, his chin, his neck, everywhere he can reach. He’s stroking Q’s thigh and perhaps it’s meant to be reassuring but it only makes him even more impatient. Bond continues as he is, so frustratingly slow. “You’re doing so well. Such a good boy.”

Q lets out a quiet sob, and Bond is on his feet immediately, making soft, soothing sounds. He turns the vibrator off and begins undoing Q’s flies. Q would help, if he could, but he can’t. He’s already a shaking mess and lets Bond manhandle him, pulling his trousers all the way off and dropping them on the floor. Q’s briefs are a mess, utterly damp with sweat and precome, and the head of his cock is straining against the elastic, starved for attention.

“Oh,” Bond says quietly. He always seems to appreciate the sight of Q’s cock, and Q doesn’t think he’s ever been _this_ hard before.

“If you touch me…” Q whispers shakily, “I’m going to come.”

“I won’t need to, will I?” Bond asks, smiling down at him. He pushes Q to lie down on the desk, taking hold of his bare legs. With his index finger, he traces the edge of the plug’s base.

“Professor—” Q gasps sharply.

“Almost there,” Bond murmurs. He pulls a condom out of his pocket, and a packet of lube. The thought that he’s been keeping them there all this time makes Q’s head spin even more than it already is. He takes his own trousers off, rolls the condom on, and slicks himself up with an efficiency that would be frightening if it weren’t so welcome. “Almost.”

He pulls the plug out slowly and Q just focuses on reminding himself to _breathe_. He can hear Bond’s quiet exhale when the plug is all the way out and Q would feel empty, if not for the two fingers that are pushed into him almost immediately.

“Look at that,” Bond murmurs approvingly, not moving his fingers, just letting them fill Q. It’s not enough. “Just look at how eager you are.”

“Don’t make me beg,” Q grits out.

“I could,” Bond replies. The hand holding Q’s leg up lets go, reaching to stroke his cheek instead. “I could make you do anything and you _would_.”

Q sighs, looking up at Bond. So they’re playing this game. “Yes, I would. _Sir_.”

He can hear Bond swallow hard. As much as he wants to look up and savour the expression that he knows is on Bond’s face right now, Q stays right where he is, lying on the desk.

The fingers still inside him curl a little—just enough to send a jolt through Q’s body—before Bond pulls them out, holding Q’s thighs apart. Bond looks down at Q, the head of his cock nothing more than a tease against him. He knows better than to ask, with the way Q is looking up at him.

Then, finally, Bond is sliding into him. Q doesn’t resist him at all; Bond is in all the way to the hilt and he hunches over Q, pressed so close that they can feel each other shaking.

“Fuck,” Bond grunts, and then Q can’t wait any longer. He grabs hold of Bond’s jacket, his grip so tight that his knuckles turn white.

Bond doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes hold of Q’s hips and thrusts. _This_ is what Q has wanted for the past hour. For even longer than that. He’s a little horrified at himself for the fact that he’s come to this. He’s letting Bond fuck him in his office, with nothing more than a locked door as security, where _anybody_ could figure out what’s going on. This could ruin them both, it could—

Bond hits Q’s prostate, and all the thoughts go flying from his mind. He’s oversensitive and Bond is relentless. He holds Q down and just fucks into him, until it’s all Q can do to keep himself from crying out. As it is, he can’t help the small gasps of breath each time Bond thrusts into him, and he isn’t going to last much longer, he knows it.

Not that Bond will, either. Now that he’s finally fucking Q, he drops the pretenses, stops bothering to hide just how badly he wants this. He’s been _planning_ this, and that’s a nice thought; Bond writing up the quiz for today, already imagining Q with the plug inside him, vibrator sending him half mad.

He barely manages to keep himself from shouting when he comes. He claps a hand over his mouth and bites his lower lip and he just doesn’t stop coming, coming until he just physically _can’t_. He’s boneless on the desk, his shirt rumpled and utterly ruined, and Bond bends over him, letting out a quiet moan, right into Q’s ear.

“There you are. Such a good boy.”

Q reaches between his legs, down to where Bond is still thrusting into him.

“Sir,” he whispers, and that’s all Bond needs. 

Bond braces himself against the desk to keep himself from collapsing onto Q, panting quietly. Q sits up, placing his hands on Bond's shoulders. He doesn’t need to ask for Bond to know exactly what he wants.

Their kiss is gentle and unhurried, Bond’s hands resting on Q’s side as their lips brush against each other. Q remembers the first time Bond had kissed him, remembers being surprised by just how gentle he was, when everything else about him always seemed so sharp, so rough. He takes his time with Q now, kissing his lips, his eyelids, his forehead, until they’ve both caught their breath.

“Are you going to tell me how _good_ I was for you today?” Q asks with a small smile, watching as Bond takes a step back. Bond’s pants are around his knees and he pulls them back up before Q reaches for him, tugging him closer.

“Oh, I’m sure you already know,” Bond murmurs, letting Q zip him back up and buckle his belt. “Though I’m sure I won’t mind repeating it when I finish marking those quizzes and find that you’ve gotten the highest mark even though you were wearing a vibrating plug throughout it.”

Q shakes his head. “And here I came to university thinking that I’d have such a bright academic career ahead of me.”

“And instead, you’re squandering your afternoons spread out on my desk so I can fuck you,” Bond replies.

“Well…” Q holds Bond's face between his hands, knowing that the rush of affection he feels is entirely one-sided, knowing that even as Bond turns his head to the side, kissing the centre of Q’s palm, he doesn’t take this seriously. Despite all of that, Q smiles. “I never said it was a _waste_ now, did I?”

Bond smiles, leaning in for another kiss. Q takes what he can get.


End file.
